


Power and Control

by CommunionNimrod



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Greg isn't very confident in himself, M/M, Mycroft controls everything, brief character studies, fighting and tension, they're both basically big dummies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3151211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommunionNimrod/pseuds/CommunionNimrod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both Greg and Mycroft are very strong-willed and stubborn men.  They are deeply in love, but that doesn't stop things from being... strained.  It gets to the point where Greg can't deal with being dictated and controlled like everything else in Mycroft's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: Power

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Goda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goda/gifts).



> My gift to Goda for the 2014 Winter Mystrade Exchange!

As a child, having power usually came in the form of physical things.  Whoever had the biggest bike or the coolest jacket had the power.  Whoever had the most of a specific toy had the power. All the other kids would just flock to that one kid automatically.  It was just the way the world worked.  It was fickle, and kids rarely had any idea of loyalty, so the second another kid got the cooler thing for his birthday the power shifted.

 

As the children got older, things changed and molded into something a little more sophisticated.  It was no longer material things that caused an individual to have power.  Material things helped, of course, but it was _popularity_ that became the deciding factor.  All throughout secondary and uni, getting into the right crowds and having the right friends was key.  Getting into specific sports and groups could make or break your popularity. If you were popular, you had power.

 

After schooling was over, and you were thrust out into the real world, a mixture of all these things aided in who had the power. However, more than ever before, there was a key element that most people never prepared for, so their worlds shifted dramatically as their power was yanked out from under them: knowledge. The problem was, most of the incredibly popular and powerful kids didn’t focus so much on their academics, finding more importance in the activities that made them so popular and important, so when those activities and trophies didn’t matter anymore? Neither did they.

 

Greg Lestrade had never considered himself to have too much in the way of power throughout his life.  The Lestrade family had enough money that none of the four kids were left wanting.  However, being the second oldest of said four kids put Greg in the awkward middle child position. He would never say he was neglected, but he always preferred to let a bit more of the flashier things go to his younger brother and sister.  So, while he had decent things, and dependable things, he definitely didn’t have the nicest things.

 

He played football, but he didn’t hang out with the “football crowd”.  He had a good, tight-knit group of friends, but he was never what they considered the popular kid. It always suited him fine. He’d rather have a closer set of friends that could depend on each other more than a wider group of people who were kind of your friend but not really.

 

His grades were… decent.  He didn’t get straight A’s, but he definitely had some of the best scores of anyone else on his football teams.  He studied hard without giving himself many sleepless nights, and while some exams he passed by the skin of his teeth, overall it was never too bad.

 

As he grew older, he found two incredible sources of power that basically fueled everyone in adulthood: sex and position (not _sex_ positions, but actual position in life).  He was incredibly adept at the first one and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it.  He worked very hard at the second.  He joined the police force to make a difference, to help people, and that uniform and title gave him power.  Even as a lowly Constable there was an immediate power that Greg held over others.  It was easy to see how people on the force could become so corrupt.  If you were so easily inclined, the badge gave you the ability to let things slide, and shape things to your benefit.

 

Greg was never that kind of person, of course. He didn’t believe in a corrupt system, and he knew you couldn’t ever truly help the people that needed it with a corrupt system.  He’d seen family and friends fall thanks to a corrupt system and he refused to allow it to happen under his watch.  In all things, he worked hard and got things done, moving through the ranks as he got older and more experienced.  His work was important.  He lived and breathed New Scotland Yard.  In hindsight, that was perhaps one of the things that destroyed his marriage. His mum always said that everything happened for a reason, though, so as awful as her cheating and their divorce was, it all turned out for the better in the end.

 

Working for the Met gave Greg his first true experiences of power in his adult life, but it wasn’t until he became Detective Inspector that he really saw where power could get you.  He had worked long and hard to get where he was, earning each promotion with every fiber of his being.  Finally, he had a team and he called the shots.  He had never truly used his influence as much as he could… until Sherlock Holmes came along.

 

He knew from day one that he was breaking so many protocols by allowing Sherlock onto his crime scenes.  He knew that if the wrong people caught wind of it, not only would any of the evidence brought to light that involved Sherlock become completely discredited, but he could lose his job in a heartbeat.  In the blink of an eye everything he had worked so hard for would be gone.  He honestly shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it.

 

However, he called the shots.  He was the boss and he said Sherlock would stay. As against protocol as it was, Sherlock was able to see things none of them could.  It became incredibly important to get his insight, and it saved a lot lives.  It put criminals behind bars quicker.  He got results. It was the only reason Greg put up with his drug use and his distasteful attitude.  It was the only reason he put up with the irritation and complaints from his team.

 

Anyone on the team could always sidestep him and go to the higher-ups.  Donovan, Anderson, Dimmock, Bullock, Stevens… any of them could report him.  One word from them and Greg could be thrown out; Sherlock gone forever.  Yet none of them did. It wasn’t just power that did this, but also loyalty.  It was one of the things that kids in power never had going for them.  Greg realized this, and it might have taken for him to be in his late forties to see it, but he did.

 

What he was doing wasn’t right, but it wasn’t corrupt. Overall, it was in everyone’s best interest, and Greg had a feeling that was why everyone remained silent and put up with the drug-addicted genius and his insulting rants.

 

Greg had power.  As always, though, other people had more power.  He had always thought power to be something that someone could respect in another person.  However, he hadn’t quite seen the fearsome side of it before.  Not until he met the other Holmes brother, Mycroft.

 

Mycroft _oozed_ power.  The second the man climbed out of a car, back straight and head held high, umbrella swinging lazily at his side, he controlled the area.  The room was his, even if you had no clue who he was, and he could make people bend to his will with nothing more than a look.  He was smart, he was arrogant, and it was easy to tell he always got his way.

 

The arrogance pissed Greg off at first. Though, most of his anger could rightfully be directed at the fact that he was basically abducted from his own crime scene and driven halfway across town, to be dropped off inside an empty warehouse and standing across from Holmes the elder.  Of all the nerve Mycroft bloody Holmes had, all to figure out what his association with Sherlock was and attempt to bribe him into spying. It was obvious that this wasn’t the first time Mycroft had began a conversation like this, and Greg doubted it would be the last.  It was the first time, however, that Mycroft had underestimated who he was speaking with. It was clear by the surprise on his face for a few moments that Greg had been the first to decline whatever enticing offer he’d made, and there was an odd sense of satisfaction in that.

 

Damn right Greg Lestrade wasn’t going to be bribed for information.

 

“I do hope that you and I can continue some form of association, in any case,” Mycroft had said when it was clear bribery wasn’t the way to go. “I worry about him dearly.”

 

Greg was an older brother.  That, he could relate to.  As reluctant as he was to have another conversation with Mycroft, he found he couldn’t deny this part of the one they’d just had. He knew what it was like to be worried about siblings.  It was a difficult thing to deal with; you would do anything for them.  So, as he was taken back to his crime scene, he knew it would only be the first in what was clear to be a long association with Mycroft.

 

As always, Greg would come to realize, the younger man had the power.  Plus, he’d been told he had a bit of a hero’s complex, so there you had it.

 

It was after this initial meeting (Greg preferred to call “kidnapping”, which caused Mycroft to sigh in annoyance and roll his eyes every time) that they began to see one another regularly. At first, it was a monthly meeting either over drinks in one of Mycroft’s offices or at a restaurant of his choosing.  Greg never drove there himself, and he never dictated the time or location. A black car always pulled up on the side of the road and took him to wherever they were meeting that time around. If the man was feeling generous, Greg would get a very brief text letting him know when to expect the car. It was all part of Mycroft’s power play, of course.  Always the one calling the shots, always the one in control, it was the posh man’s decision and Greg went along with it.  He had a feeling Mycroft was used to dealing with most things like this.  He always humored him because it meant that he got a free meal or some good scotch out of it.  A little consideration wouldn’t be remiss now and again, but overall, Greg could hardly complain about the arrangement.

 

The last thing Greg expected was to fall in love with Mycroft.  It snuck up on him, hit him like a pound of bricks one afternoon.  Their arrangement had quickly turned into a very wonderful friendship, and it only took a few professional meetings to slide into something more casual.  They opened up to each other, chatted about the most random of things, and told each other life stories. They started going over to each other’s flats, and Sherlock wasn’t the main reason for their meetings anymore. It was the day that Greg had made Mycroft laugh and the older man found himself staring at his lips, his stomach fluttering, that he knew he was in trouble.

 

If it had only been a sexual attraction, that would have been fairly straightforward.  Greg thought it was at first.  His dreams certainly made him think so, anyway.  It was the fact that he soon found that when the sex was over, he wasn’t in any hurry to leave the bed he and Mycroft were sharing.  The fact that he wanted to stay over, sleep with Mycroft and not just _with_ him, meant that he was getting attached and he wanted more.

 

He was powerless to stop it.  He didn’t want to stop it.  Greg had fallen for Mycroft and fallen hard.  Her was just lucky that the younger man was dealing with the same battle.  What had started as a somewhat drunken poor decision of a confession turned into the best night of his life, wrapped in slender arms as they kissed tenderly. They undressed each other slowly that night, everything taking on a brand new meaning, everything suddenly about _them_ and not just their orgasms. It was the most intimate sex Greg had ever had, his whole body trembling as he was overwhelmed by the sensations, and that night he did what he’d been wanting to do for months.

 

He slept in Mycroft’s arms.

 

It was brilliant.  Greg had never been so happy.  They worked surprisingly well in ways that he had never really considered before they started dating.  Both of their jobs were incredibly important and demanding, so while it meant that there were times they couldn’t see each other for weeks at a time, it wasn’t something that put a rift between them.  Somehow they didn’t run out of topics to discuss when they were together and Greg was able to keep Mycroft’s attention.  He still couldn’t tell you how he did that one.

 

It wasn’t all smooth sailing, of course. No relationship was. While they worked well together, they were both rather stubborn when they had their minds set to something. Their jobs did keep them apart a lot, and yes, Greg understood it, but it didn’t keep him from hating it when Mycroft was out of the country for weeks at a time.  He couldn’t count on his hands how many dates had been ruined by a murder or terrorists or god knows what.  To this day Greg couldn’t quite say what all Mycroft did. All he really knew was that the younger man had his hands in so many pots, it was a little terrifying.

 

Mycroft had more power than any one man Greg had ever known.  It was intimidating. It didn’t matter that they had a very intimate relationship, or that Greg had seen every gentle, open, and honest piece of Mycroft’s being, it was still incredibly intimidating. Greg had seen very influential people crumble under the weight of Mycroft’s gaze alone.  The politician could (and probably was) making Earth-shattering political decisions with a single nod or a text. For all Greg knew, Mycroft could be deciding the fate of opposing candidates and countries while they were curled up on the sofa together and watching a movie.

 

He knew Mycroft loved him.  The younger man did an incredible job at showing so without ever having to say a word.  That didn’t stop Greg from feeling insanely inferior standing next to him. He was just a copper, when you sat and looked at it.  He was a copper who loved rock music and football, and would rather lounge about on the sofa and have a beer than anything else.  Mycroft was… _Mycroft_.  He was all posh suits and spoke thirteen languages and knew bloody everything and could see bloody everything in seconds. He made Sherlock look average. Greg certainly didn’t think he was dumb, but compared to Mycroft he was the village idiot.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous Gregory,” Mycroft would say. “You are brilliant and you continue to surprise and astound me every day. It is incredibly refreshing.”

 

Greg didn’t think he was lying.  Mycroft wasn’t one to lie just to make someone feel better. Greg could never completely believe it though.  There was always this small voice in the back of his mind reminding him that he inferior, and he would always be inferior, and one of these days Mycroft would grow tired of it. No matter what the man said or how he reassured him, one day he would wake up and leave, and Greg would be alone.

 

Maybe that insecurity was where the tension started. Greg couldn’t say for sure, but it wouldn’t be surprising.  It was small at first, nothing that was cause for alarm but something that just didn’t settle right inside of him.  After a while, however, it started making things into much bigger deals than they really were. It brought up problems where they shouldn’t exist.

 

Nights where Mycroft was on his phone or his laptop instead of eating dinner together or sharing a drink or bath seemed to become more frequent.  Dates were getting cancelled, other dates weren’t even actually getting planned, and their time together was dwindling.  When they were together, Mycroft was dragging him away to a restaurant he had decided on, or determining what they would be doing next.  He was making decisions and handling things that they should have been doing together.

 

Greg felt like he hardly had a choice. Mycroft was deciding these things so easily.  Without hesitation he was controlling every aspect of their relationship and time together. Greg was already feeling inferior, and it was becoming clear that Mycroft apparently had no interest in his thoughts on any of the matters.  It would be a shame to risk Greg coming up with a boring idea that Mycroft would either have to suffer through, fake interest in, or find a way to get out of all together.

 

Mycroft was getting bored with him. He knew it was bound to happen. He should have seen it coming. Greg bit his lip, never quite able to say something when he felt he should.  He couldn’t speak his idea of how they should spend the evening, or disagree when Mycroft started to make plans.  He had never been all that great at talking about these kinds of things - there was more than a few reasons why he’d been through a divorce - and he felt completely powerless to change anything.

 

It was all crumbling.  He loved Mycroft, but did Mycroft still love him?  Things were spiralling away from his grasp and he didn’t know how he was going to get it back.

 

“Just sit him down and talk to him,” John said one evening.

 

“That’s just it, John,” Greg sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I can never bring myself to say anything, even when I should. Something keeps me quiet.”

 

“He’s bored of you,” Sherlock interrupted.

 

“Sherlock!” John snapped, glaring. Greg stared.

 

“That’s what you think,” Sherlock continued, rolling his eyes. “You believe he is bored of you and the moment you mention the problem he’ll drop you like the old Prime Minister.”

 

“Thanks for saying it delicately,” Greg mumbled, staring down at his lap and shifting where he sat in the middle of 221B. “As always, you’re absolutely right.”

 

“If you think he is unaware there is a problem, you’re an idiot Lestrade,” the younger Holmes continued.

 

“Then why-”

 

“Hasn’t he said anything?  Really, Lestrade, are you that clueless?” Sherlock asked.

 

“Sherlock, if you have a point, please get to it and stop insulting him,” John muttered under his breath, shooting Greg an apologetic look.  He shrugged it off.

 

“My brother is emotionally dense.”

 

“Runs in the family,” John said before he could stop himself.  Sherlock huffed out an annoyed sigh.

 

“My brother is emotionally dense,” he repeated, crossing his legs. “He knows there is a problem but will not bring it up with you because he only knows how to command and negotiate.  I can tell you right now though, Lestrade, that nothing will fix itself without you speaking up.  Just because he is aware of the tension and the issue does not mean he knows how to fix it.  Honestly, I don’t know why you put up with him.  I’m exhausted for you.”

 

It was probably one of the most insightful things Sherlock had ever shared with Greg.  He couldn’t get the detective’s words out of his mind the rest of the night. He sat in his flat, not really watching the telly, staring at his mobile and thinking.

 

It was risky.  Saying something could have all of his fears be realized. It could bring to light how bored of him Mycroft had become.  What was the other option, though, really?  He was exhausted.  He was frustrated. This was no way to let things go on.

 

_We need to talk. When are you free? -G_

 

The minutes passed like hours.  It felt like ages before Mycroft finally responded.

 

_A car will be there in ten minutes.  -MH_

 

Greg sighed, irritation flaring through him. There he went again. It didn’t matter that Greg had brought up them seeing each other, as always, Mycroft dictated everything else. He’d probably dictate the damn conversation too.  This was a bad idea. Greg was too emotionally vulnerable, and it put him on the defensive.  He’d always been told that he had too much of a temper.  He knew how easy it was for him to get angry.

 

Even still, he couldn’t control or contain it. It took all of his willpower to refrain from kicking the wheel of the damn car Mycroft had sent. It was empty when he climbed in, surprise surprise, and he huffed when the driver remained silent the entire drive.

 

Crossing his arms, Greg stared out of the window. He had no idea where they were going. He had no idea how long he’d have with Mycroft.  He was bloody clueless. That seemed to be the theme as of late. Mycroft made all the damn decisions while Greg sat there and let himself be pushed along every time. He had no control over this relationship or his life anymore. 

 

Is that why Mycroft kept him around? It made a man wonder.

 

When the car stopped, Greg glanced out to see he was sitting in front of Mycroft’s flat.  Well thank goodness for small miracles.  He really didn’t think he could bear having a conversation like this in one of the man’s intimidating offices.  The intimidation was part of the problem.  At least here was, in a way, a second home to Greg.  He was comfortable here.  He could think more clearly here.  Sucking in a deep breath, he closed his eyes and exhaled before pushing the door open and stepping out.  He shivered as cool London air hit his body, and ran a hand through his hair as he made his way up to the door.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft greeted with a soft smile. It still made Greg’s heart stutter. It almost made his resolve fade. It was easier to get worked up when you weren’t staring the love of your life in the face.

 

“Myc,” he managed, shutting the door behind him.

 

“I am pleased you texted,” the younger man said, reaching out to squeeze his bicep. “I thought we could have dinner, perhaps watch a movie or take a stroll through the park once it gets to be a bit later.”

 

Greg’s resolve came back.  His mood flared at hearing the night’s plans recited in front of him.  Here they were again, Mycroft setting up everything without even consulting him first. The younger man had the power, and Greg had none.

 

“ _This_ is what I wanted to talk about,” Greg snapped, walking into the living room. He briefly noticed the expression of shock flit across Mycroft’s face before disappearing.

 

“What is _this_?” Mycroft asked calmly.

 

“You… doing this,” Greg said, waving a hand in between them furiously. “You’ve just got the night all set up for us, don’t you? All ready to go, plans set in stone, for me to just nod and go along with.  You always do; you’ve always got everything completely figured out and ready.”

 

“Gregory, what are you-”

 

“Do you like having all the say?” Greg interrupted. “It must be nice to have a boyfriend that you can just push around however you please. I didn’t realize you wanted a minion with sexual benefits.  If that had been the conversation you and I had months ago things would be a lot bloody different.”

 

“Calm down Gregory,” Mycroft said firmly. “You aren’t making any sense.  This is absurd.”

 

“Oh is it?” Greg asked, glaring. The anger had snuck out and now he couldn’t reel it back in.  His heart was pounding so hard it was echoing in his ears. “Tell me how I can think differently? Seriously stand there and think about every one of our interactions over the past few months and tell me how you see it.  I’m seriously interested in how you think I can feel differently about this.”

 

“I was merely suggesting ideas for the evening, there is no need to overreact Gregory, honestly.”

 

Greg took a deep breath.  With the mix of everything, there was something about Mycroft’s tone that only made him angrier.  He’d heard that tone before, quite a bit when the younger man was talking to Sherlock.

 

“Right, because I’m just overreacting,” he said sarcastically, crossing his arms. “It would be ridiculous for me to actually feel like you control everything because you can’t stand the decisions I make or don’t have enough faith in me to think of something you would actually enjoy. Heaven forbid I try to contribute to the time we spend together.  That’s absurd, of course, how silly of me.”

 

Mycroft was blinking rapidly, staring at Greg like he’d grown another head.  His lips parted slightly and he shook his head, taking a slow breath.

 

“No, don’t,” Greg said before Mycroft could speak. “I need to go home.  This was a bad idea. Forget it.  I’m leaving, okay?  Just… think about if you really just want to keep dictating everything. If you don’t want to keep an actual relationship please just let me know, because I can’t handle being… _handled_ anymore.”

 

Even as Greg turned and stormed out, he felt like an idiot.  He knew instantly that he’d handled that poorly, but he didn’t have the heart to turn back and start over.  He was still angry, after all.  He had planned to act a bit more his age and have an actual conversation, but… well, that had gone right out the window.  Bloody hell. He shut his eyes tight and pinched the bridge of his nose as he was driven home, trying to decide whether he should stand behind what he had just said or actually try to do some damage control.

 

He hadn’t wanted to go into that conversation and make it seem like things were so close to being over.  Maybe they were, though.  If he got that worked up that quickly… Well, that wasn’t a good thing, was it? He had no clue when things had gotten so bad.  How long had he been suppressing how this all made him feel?  How long had he really been feeling so incredibly powerless?

 

His flat was empty.  His phone was silent.  He stared at it, halfway willing it to light up with a text from Mycroft even though he knew it wouldn’t.  Sighing, Greg practically drug himself through the sitting room where he collapsed onto the sofa, curling up and eventually falling asleep.


	2. Chapter 2: Control

Mycroft Holmes was seven years old when he basically took control of his own life.  It was a statement one might scoff or chuckle at, but one that held true regardless.  There were a few factors contributing to this shift in his life; the most dominant one was that he had already surpassed his own father in intelligence, though what really forced everyone’s hand (so to speak) was the birth of his baby brother Sherlock.

 

Sherlock had been the definition of chaos the moment he came home.  He was a very enthusiastic infant, to say the least.  It had taken up a good majority of his parents’ time, and while Mycroft was aware of it being common for the older child to feel jealousy at their sudden lack of attention, he was quite the opposite.  He had never been a sociable child, preferring to sit in a quiet corner with a stack of books rather than play with toys or talk to people.  He had spent many a night reading through Mummy’s mathematics books and absolutely soaking them in.

 

“Your thirst for knowledge rivals my own, Myckie,” Mummy had said one afternoon as he was hunting down some of the more obscure books she owned. 

 

Violet Holmes was an incredibly intelligent woman. Mycroft could never admit to understanding why she chose to give up her life as a mathematician so she could focus on _family_.  While that decision was the main reason both he and Sherlock existed, that didn’t mean that Mycroft thought it the smarter choice. It seemed absurd.

 

At ten, there was no one in school that was smarter than him.  He had even surpassed a majority of the teachers.  It gave him quite the upper hand, and Mycroft realized that this was how his life would always be.  It didn’t take long at all for him to discover how to take advantage of it; knowledge was power and power meant control.  He set his own agendas in everything, adhering to the bare bones of the schedules his schools would have just to get through each year.  It was all so boring, but unlike Sherlock - who rebelled constantly in his boredom and was getting himself kicked out of programmes as early as nursery school - he used his constant boredom to figure people out.

 

People were almost embarrassingly easy to work out. It was pretty clear the types of things that fueled a person’s decisions and wants.  Desire was so simple to take advantage of. Mycroft knew what people wanted to see or hear, and it was something he would use to his advantage to get what he was looking for.  Many people gave willingly, not even realizing that he was the one in control.

 

The government was a natural progression, he supposed. He didn’t grow up in a very political household; his parents had their opinions and preferences, of course, and they made their votes known when they needed to, but that was the extent of it. However, Mycroft found the inner workings of politics fascinating.  He didn’t care much for all of the policies themselves, or being in charge of running the things that most people thought of when you mentioned government and Parliament, but that didn’t mean the other branches were the same.

 

Going through university was a joke, but Mycroft did it anyway.  He pursued a government career, majoring in politics and business while minoring in a multitude of other things.  On the side he studied even more, learning thirteen different languages one month because he was bored.  All of this aided his efforts when he joined MI6 fresh out of graduation.

 

He was underestimated.  He always had been.  And, as always, everyone who underestimated him had a rather rude awakening. He despised field work, but in the beginning, it was just as necessary as everything else.  He flew through the ranks, because he was nothing if not efficient, and while he suffered through his fair share of kidnap and torture and infuriating agents, it finally landed him the desk job he was striving for.

 

Technically, he worked in the Department of Transport. Technicalities were a big part of Mycroft’s life.  Sure, normal politicians within Transport didn’t have personal bodyguards (though Anthea preferred to be called a PA for appearances’ sake), nor did they have extensively impressive MI6 experience and a backlog of field work in their careers. They also did not travel to other countries anywhere near as much as Mycroft did.  Technically, though, he showed up on the register under the Department of Transport.

 

Mycroft had his hands in a lot of pies, as the expression went.

 

No matter how much he was able to control, however, when it came to his little brother it was always chaos.

 

Sherlock was the epitome of chaos. He was brilliant in his own right (though not quite as smart as Mycroft, of course), with the potential to be even more so.  However, instead of actually doing something productive with his brilliant mind, Sherlock poisoned it in every stupid way imaginable.  Mycroft should have seen it coming.  It seemed that no matter what, there would always be blind spots when it came to Sherlock.

 

The drugs had been a nightmare.  Mycroft had started getting very important in his own right and could not jeopardize his path.  Sherlock, however, needed caring after.  The stubborn boy never accepted it though.  Mycroft was at his wits end, and he was tired of standing in hospital rooms wondering if Sherlock would make it through _this_ overdose.  He did what was required, however, and half the time, their parents were none the wiser.

 

Just when Mycroft thought he had things as under control as they could get with Sherlock, he was thrown yet another curve ball. One of the biggest ones had been the day that Anthea reported him not only showing up at a homicide crime scene, but not getting booted within minutes of his arrival.  It was curious.  It had been a welcome break from tedious meetings with the Prime Minister, and Mycroft just had to witness it for himself.

 

He might not have realized it then, but as he climbed out of the black car and strolled up to the scene, laying eyes on his brother talking to an older man, clearly in control of the scene - Inspector then - he started a spiralling journey to an entirely different life. As he pulled the man away to his usual plan on intimidation and gathering information, Mycroft had been beyond surprised that this man did not bend or skitter away like so many other associates of Sherlock.

 

Gregory Lestrade.  The man had surprised Mycroft, and he was rarely ever surprised. It had been quite refreshing, in fact. He was a skilled Detective Inspector was an impressive resume, as the folder Anthea had given him on his career had informed him.  There was plenty of other information about him in there as well, but for once, Mycroft did not read through it all.  He couldn’t quite say why at that time, but it had been more than respect.

 

It tooks months of meetings and getting to know one another that Mycroft realized that there was attraction there. It was easy enough to notice in Gregory, of course, but it was his returning desires that surprised him. The way Gregory’s deep brown eyes would darken as his pupils flared after a few drinks, cheeks flush and grin bright, made Mycroft’s stomach flutter and clench.  It was a thrilling and unpleasant experience. He didn’t want it.

 

Mycroft had opened himself up before. He had been young and foolish. He had also lost a lot in doing so, and vowed in that moment he would not again.  There was hardly anyone worth attempting it with anyway, and he spared nothing but occasional nights of passion just to get a release and sort his head. Even then, the release was hardly ever worth it.  Most men wanted repeat encounters and Mycroft didn’t have time for that.

 

As time went on, however, Mycroft found himself wanting that with Gregory.  The want came out of nowhere, but the older man was irresistible.  He was incredibly attractive, and Mycroft wanted him. He longed for a warm, gentle touch that would match that warm, gentle smile.  He wanted to feel those soft lips against his skin in a bad way.

 

He had not been prepared for Gregory. He had been less prepared to fall in love again.  Not only again, but this time he fell harder.  He fell in a way he knew he would never recover from.  Sherlock had brought this man into his life and, with him, the chaos and confusion that was a frustrating part of being in love with someone. Mycroft knew he had to keep Gregory at an arm’s distance and he had failed to do so.  He knew he had failed the morning he’d woken up with the older man curled up against him, the duvet twisted up in their legs, not a thread of clothing between them.

 

Sex was one thing.  Sleeping with someone after the orgasm was another. It was something Mycroft had always refused to let happen.  His defenses had broke the night before, however, and the last thing he had wanted was for Gregory to leave him alone in his suddenly huge home and go. His entire way of being had shifted in those moments, and having that man in his bed suddenly made complete sense and he didn’t want it any other way.

 

He was not great at relationships. Gregory was surprisingly patient. Mycroft couldn’t easily admit his weaknesses and failures, and goodness knows he couldn’t stand the thought of Gregory having a lesser view on him.  The two of them complimented each other in ways he had never really considered before, and it all worked surprisingly well.

 

Mycroft was _happy_. He was genuinely happy and he felt more at ease with Gregory than he had ever felt with anyone. It was brilliant and surprising and sometimes uncomfortable, but it was worth it.  Gregory was worth it.  Things worked.  They understood one another and they challenged one another.  They laughed and joked and kissed.  Mycroft felt years younger.

 

The problem with being as observant as he was, though, was that Mycroft could always tell when things weren’t quite right. That on its own wasn’t the problem, of course.  The problem lied with the fact that, for once, Mycroft didn’t have an answer.  They still smiled together and had some of the most mind-blowing sex two people could ever have, but it was getting more frequent that Gregory would seem distracted or on edge when they were together. The in between moments were becoming less than what they were.  Mycroft was losing control, he didn’t have the answers on how to fix it, and Gregory was drifting away.

 

It was glaringly obvious there was a problem. Mycroft’s gut instinct was to force Gregory to talk to him about it.  However, he knew the older man well enough to know that course of action would cause nothing but backlash and unnecessary anger.  That would get them nowhere.  He didn’t know a better what to navigate it, though, and so he remained quiet on the whole issue.  That on its own was bizarre and foreign to him; Mycroft had never in his life ignored something and just let it do what it was going to do.  No, he always took control and always made things turn out the best and most beneficial way possible.

 

_We need to talk. Are you free?  -G_

 

Mycroft could say how long he had sat in front of his fireplace and stared at those words.  His heart skipped at the thought of seeing Gregory - it had been a few days due to ridiculous meetings he’d been stuck in all day and night - but there was hesitation and concern there as well.  That wasn’t the normal type of text from Gregory, and Mycroft knew what words like that usually meant in a relationship.

 

We need to talk.  Four harmless words, on the face of it.  Deeper down, it was never so simple?  In the time that it took for a car to pick Gregory up and bring him over, Mycroft had run through endless scenarios of how to handle the night going forward.  Perhaps making it another normal night of comfort would help.  Dinner, yes.  Perhaps a comfortable activity they both seemed to enjoy doing together, and then maybe if Gregory felt up to it, he could stay the evening.

 

As he reached out to touch the older man and propose such a thing, however, everything changed.  Mycroft was not met with curiosity or excitement, but anger. Gregory’s words came pouring out and all Mycroft could do was stand there and stare, his pale eyes widening in surprise.  The things he was saying… A minion with sexual benefits, _honestly_? Mycroft was beyond confused and blindsided by what was happening, and so his mind latched onto the most ridiculous things coming out of his partner’s mouth.  That, unfortunately, only added fuel to Gregory’s fire, and instead of Mycroft being able to calm the man down and talk more productively, he was storming out and leaving Mycroft alone.

 

Mycroft stood, frozen, blinking. Gregory felt as if he was being handled? He knew there had been something going on, but… With a sigh, he turned and wandered over to pour himself a scotch, before collapsing into a chair in front of the fire.  He stretched his legs out in front of him, slumping down a bit more than usual, and sipped on the refreshingly burning liquid.

 

His mind raced.  That was nothing new, of course, but this time it was just going around in circles. He was attempting to analyze everything that went wrong and what might have caused things to turn out the way they had. It wasn’t as if they’d never had a fight before; that was normal between two people no matter how much you loved each other.  No, what Mycroft couldn’t figure out what where the catalyst truly was.

 

It was clear that he had messed up. He was out of his depth. There was a reason he didn’t do relationships, and this was a very clear reason. With a sigh, Mycroft watched the flames flicker and fade, all without moving a muscle.  He felt strangely hollow.  Something needed to be done.  He had to fix this.

 

Two glasses of scotch almost had Mycroft calling his mother.  That was a poor decision that, thankfully, he was able to keep himself from doing. No, he could fix this himself. He just had to decide what the best course of action would be.  Gregory was, for the most part, a very level-headed person, and Mycroft knew he loved him. Those two things had a lot going for them.  A lot could be fixed if one went about it the right way.

 

He would keep his distance for the evening. Yes, that would likely be best. Gregory didn’t respond well to much of anything when he was angry, and it was clear that he most certainly was. Besides, Mycroft needed time to really sort through everything that had just happened.  A lot had happened in the span of five minutes of Gregory entering and then storming out.  Then, perhaps tomorrow things could be approached with more perspective and less heightened emotion between them both, and an actual discussion could be had.

 

So, Mycroft went to bed.  He was rigid and quiet as he went through his nightly routine, staring at nothing in particular as he brushed his teeth and changed into his pajamas and climbed into bed.  He stared up at the ceiling, sighing as he found himself wishing the other side of the bed was occupied.  More than once Mycroft reached over and turned on his mobile, going to his text thread with Gregory. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, but for once, he couldn’t find the words.  That was enough for him to know that it was not time. So with a sigh, the mobile was returned to the nightstand once again and eventually, Mycroft found sleep.

 

The following morning did not provide the confidence Mycroft had been hoping for.  A part of him had expected there to be some sort of communication from Gregory, but there was not.  Pressing his lips together in a thin frown, Mycroft took his shower and then put the kettle on, glancing at the paper before finally sighing and composing his text.

 

_I feel last night took a turn caused by misunderstandings.  If you would be amenable, perhaps we could discuss it?_

 

Mycroft stared at the text before grimacing and deleting it.  That didn’t quite seem the way to go about it.  With a sigh, he tried again.

 

_You are off work today, correct?  Would you like to come by for breakfast?  I would like to see you._

 

He grimaced again.  This was infuriating.  Never before had he composed a text more than once.  This was getting ridiculous.  That text wasn’t much better, however.  It was too close to the handling his partner had angrily snapped about the night before. He felt like a child trying to ask someone out on a date.  He glared at the kettle as it began whistling, almost giving up altogether, before squaring his shoulders and finally sending one.

 

_I would really like to see you.  If you find the time or desire, could you come by?  -MH_

 

He was halfway through his second cup of tea and had just picked up a scone when his partner finally responded.

 

_Sure. Be over around lunch. -G_

 

Mycroft closed his eyes and sighed through his nose. He had been hoping for earlier, but he supposed there was nothing to be done about that. Gregory was likely still at least a little angry, and trying to convince him or negotiate otherwise would only lend to more fighting and anger.  Luckily, he also had a rare day off, so he texted Anthea to request that he was not disturbed unless it was the highest of emergencies.

 

The morning couldn’t move by fast enough. Mycroft went into his study and attempted to get some work done, but for once, could not focus. He kept looking at his mobile and the clock, and kept listening for the front door.  Lunch was hours away still, and this was starting to drive him mental.

 

Finally, Mycroft went and changed into one of his tracksuits and walked down the hall to his exercise room.  He wasn’t sure when Gregory would be showing up, but he could at least work away some of the frustration now building inside of him. Setting up one of the only music playlists he listened to, Mycroft got on the treadmill, set the speed and resistance, and began running.

 

He couldn’t remember when he had first decided to purchase a treadmill.  It had been a really good decision, however.  Not just as a way to keep his weight under check, but it was good for when he was stuck with the rare situation that he had no control over.  It didn’t happen much in his job, but not every politician could be swayed the way they needed to be.  It also aided to quiet his mind, which had been the only thing that could before Gregory came along.

 

He ran hard and fast, huffing with exertion and closing his eyes.  He focused on the music, feeling the sweat sliding down his face and back, running until his legs began to ache.  Then, he pushed himself even more, brow furrowing as he worked his muscles harder.  This, of course, focused him to the point that he didn’t realize when he was no longer alone in the room.

 

“Myc?” came Gregory’s voice, startling Mycroft. He blinked, head snapping to the side as he quickly jumped off the treadmill, masking the fact that he almost lost his footing.  He blinked again, feeling his cheeks heat up a bit, and managed a slight smile as he reached for his towel.

 

“Gregory,” he panted, wiping down his face and neck. His heart was pounding loudly in his ears.  He didn’t particularly like being seen when he was exercising, not even by the man who saw everything else about him, but that was neither here nor there.  He focused on his partner then, blinking and swallowing at the look in Gregory’s eyes.

 

“Sorry, you… didn’t answer, so I let myself in,” the older man shrugged, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed loosely. Mycroft couldn’t miss the way his gaze ran up and down his body, shameless in his attraction.  It made him shiver a bit.

 

“I thought you said lunchtime,” he said, his breathing still a bit laboured. “Not that I am not grateful you’re here, of course.”

 

“I know,” Gregory said softly, smiling. “I’m a bit early. Found I couldn’t wait. Listen, Mycroft, I-”

 

“No, Gregory, please allow me,” he interrupted, licking his dried lips as he retrieved the bottle of water he’d brought in the room with him.  The older man was silent as Mycroft stared at the bottle, pressing his lips together and sighing through his nose.  He needed to get this out. He did not want Gregory saying too much before he lost the nerve on the things he had built up in his mind. This was difficult enough as it was.

 

“I will admit I didn’t fully realize how my actions were being perceived by you, nor how long this has been an issue. I can only apologize and endeavour to amend my behaviors in the future.”

 

Gregory blinked, as if surprised by the way the conversation had gone.  Mycroft was surprised by it as well, admittedly.  Apologies were not within his normal repertoire.  He was Mycroft Holmes, he did not apologize.  Yet, he just had.  There were not many words that were more difficult to say than those. There were a few… but that was another conversation altogether.

 

“I cannot promise it will change overnight,” he continued after a moment, capping his water and walking closer to his partner. “You know the kind of person I am, and this is the way I have always been. I do not think of you as lesser than myself, nor are you a minion.  I do not set out to ‘handle’ you, as it were, though I can see how some things come across that way.  All I can ask is for your forgiveness and your patience.”

 

“Mycroft…” Gregory said softly, his expression shifting slightly.  Mycroft watched as he closed the distance, reaching up to cup his cheek gently. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, feeling soothed.  He hadn’t fully realized how concerned he was about the entire situation until this moment.

 

“Last night was… unpleasant,” he muttered, turning to press his nose into Gregory’s palm.  The man chuckled.

 

“Yeah, it was,” he agreed lightly. Mycroft opened his eyes and was greeted with his usual, beaming grin.  It tightened his chest almost uncomfortably, and he realized just how in love with Gregory Lestrade he was.  Some day soon he would be able to say so.  However, he had a feeling he already knew.

 

Gregory stepped close, wrapping his arms around Mycroft’s neck and pulling close.  Mycroft froze momentarily as he buried his face in the crook of his neck.

 

“Gregory, I need a shower,” he started, but the words fell short as Gregory breathed in and hugged him tightly.

 

“No you don’t,” Gregory said deeply. Heat shot through Mycroft’s entire body.

 

“Gregory…”

 

“You should exercise around me more,” the man whispered. His lips were brushing against Mycroft’s neck, making him shiver at the teasing touch.

 

“Should I?” he asked shakily, sucking in a breath as he felt Gregory’s lips and tongue press against his skin.

 

“Yes,” Gregory nodded. “It’s amazing. You’re so fucking sexy.”

 

Mycroft felt a pang of self-conscious disgust at the comment.  How on earth was _that_ sexy? That feeling quickly disappeared though as he felt Gregory press closer, clearly aroused.  That was more than one piece of evidence pointing to that statement holding quite true for the older man.  He set a hand on Gregory’s hip and squeezed securely, tilting his head to allow the man to kiss up it and along his jawbone.

 

“Let’s make up for last night?” Gregory asked, pulling back just enough to gaze up at him with unhidden desire in his eyes. Mycroft stared, before biting his lip and managing a nod.

 

“Yes,” he agreed. “That… yes.”

 

Gregory smirked, pressing up on his toes and crushing their lips together.  Mycroft made a noise of surprise before he began to kiss back eagerly. 

 

It was something that would need to be worked on.  The point of a relationship was that one person did not hold more control than the other.  It was hard sometimes for Mycroft to remember that, because it definitely did not ring true in almost every other aspect of his life.  Leave it to Gregory Lestrade to uproot everything he was used to and turn his world upside down.

 

He welcomed it, however.  He loved this man and, regardless of how difficult and strange some of it was, it was all worth it.


End file.
